Darkness Falls
by Nymue
Summary: [WIP] Two people meet again one night; set several years in the future. A different shade of dark. ACT IV posted on 05.26.03.
1. ACT I: Shadows Gather

ANTI-LITIGATION CHARM: All recognizable characters and places related to the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Warner Brothers and Scholastic Publishing. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.

RATED: R (more for implications than content)

NOTES: Unbeta'd version. Mistakes are entirely my own.

Darkness Falls

Prologue

by Nymue

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Come to me in my dreams, and then

By day I shall be well again.

For then the night will more than pay

The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,

A messenger from radiant climes,

And smile on thy new world, and be

As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,

Come now and let me dream it truth.

And part my hair, and kiss my brow,

And say -- **My love! Why sufferest thou?**

Come to me in my dreams, and then

By day I shall be well again.

For then the night will more than pay

The hopeless longing of the day.

"Longing" by Matthew Arnold

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It had been nearly ten years.

Ten years, she thought as she broke away from the cluster of people with whom she'd been traveling on the Underground. Ten years of lying to strangers and old acquaintances, ten years of looking over her shoulder at every little bump and ten years of adrenaline spikes with every strange occurrence. 

Ten years of freedom.

She shook her head at the thought and fished her keys from their place in her pocket as she approached the narrow path that led to her door. Yes, the freedom was exhilarating, but during the first few years she had been a bundle of nerves and too frightened of being discovered to truly enjoy herself. It had only been over the past three years, since she'd began working at the clinic, that she had allowed herself to begin interacting with her neighbors and colleagues, to go out to the cinema and to clubs for a bit of dancing twice a month. She never dated her gentlemen friends or permitted intimacies to develop but there were very good reasons for her actions. Or the lack thereof.

"Doctor Gragan!"

Hazel eyes swung around to find a young boy of perhaps nine years come to a panting stop, his face flushed youthful exuberance as he grinned up at her. She couldn't help the smile that emerged.

"Daniel, I've told you before that you can call me by my name," she teased.

"I know," he replied, his voice muffled as he covered his mouth to conceal a yawn. "But Mum gets on to me if I call you or any other adult by your name, Miss Gra -- I mean, Harriet."

She smiled wider. Daniel Thornton was a precocious little lad, no doubt about that, and though she loved her neighbor's son tonight the only thing she wanted was the privacy of her own home. A ten-hour shift had somehow become sixteen and she was nearly dead on her feet; added to that was the nearness of the anniversary she would rather forget, the thirteenth year since the day of her most exquisite mistake.

"Daniel, I don't want to be rude, but I have a really terrible headache and -- "

"It's okay, Harriet," he told her. "I just wanted to tell you that Amelia's coming home tomorrow afternoon. Mrs. Peploe told me earlier."

"That's wonderful, Daniel," she said as her internal eyebrow raised itself. She didn't know much about eleven, no twelve, year old Amelia Peploe; actually, no one knew much about the family at all except, perhaps, Daniel. He had met the Peploes when they moved in two years ago and promptly found in the older girl the sister he didn't have and, for her part, it appeared that Amelia found in Daniel the little brother she didn't have. Or rather, no longer had if the gossip was to be believed. Either way, Daniel had been both proud and devastated the previous summer when Amelia had told him that she would be going away to school from now on. Still, the two had apparently maintained a steady, if sporadic, correspondence over the intervening months and for that she was pleased. Daniel was a nice lad. In fact, she often wondered if her own -- 

No. 

Not going there.

"Bye, Harriet," he called over his shoulder as he wound his way down the little path to the road and across the high hedges that divided all the properties on this row from one another. She lifted a hand in farewell, her eyes misty as she watched him turn the corner, and once he was gone she wiped at her eyes furiously and fumbled with the keys until the door opened. 

Once inside she allowed herself to relax a fraction and dropped her bag and keys onto the table in the hall as she waded through her personal fog toward the kitchen and the bottle of wine she'd left chilling the night before. She had wanted to toast her freedom, to congratulate herself on ten years on her own. Now, however, she just wanted something to numb the pain and ease the burden of memory; brandy would have been better and a good scotch the best, but the wine was all she had on hand so it would have to do. 

Five minutes and a shattered glass later she climbed the stairs to her bedroom with the bottle in hand, her eyes stinging and her mind's turmoil just barely beginning to ease. She purposely neglected the lights in favor of a few simple candles as she carefully removed the itchy contacts, relieved to once more see her own cinnamon orbs and not the hazel she put on for the world at large. Perhaps, she thought as she took a large draw from her bottle, she would look into a new color. The hazel had seemed a good choice at first; they were less conspicuous than blue or green (or gray, a little voice nagged) but they were far lighter than she was used to and even now she felt they were a bit too gold. With the contacts in she often thought the color was more reminiscent of Hoo -- 

No, she repeated firmly to herself, I will not even think about it. Dwelling on the past does no good. 

Later she would always wonder at the course of events as they played out, would also wonder how she missed all the obvious signs. But at that moment sixteen hours of patching up patients on barely four hours of sleep and nearly an entire bottle of 1957 Chardonnay caught up with her, and she surrendered to the velvet darkness with nary a thought or word of protest. 

***

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She dreamed. She knew that she dreamed but all of it seemed so terribly real. Through eyes not her own she watched the lights of her street blink out one by one, heard the silence grow as televisions and radios fell silent in deference to the late hour and the needs of their owners for sleep. Yet, this man did not sleep and neither did he belong. Nor did the men who joined him, falling quiet at his upraised hand as another of their ilk approached and spoke quietly in a voice she had long since tried to forget.

"This is the place?"

A nod. The blond beside him smirked and the hand that was raised suddenly fell, a signal that the others obviously understood and had eagerly anticipated. They fell onto the house as if they were starving men in search of a feast and the blond frowned for a moment before turning cold gray eyes on his companion. "They'll not have much fun tonight, not here ... too many Muggles in such close quarters."

She watched through his eyes as the face of Lucius Malfoy came into view. "True," came his voice. "But this was not a mission bent on entertainment, Lucius."

Malfoy snorted. "I can see you will never change, Severus. Still, I must admit you are correct; the Peploes needed to be eliminated quickly and efficiently, and you put together the best of our youth capable of such work."

"Indeed."

"I suppose we can stop elsewhere before we return," Malfoy mused. "They deserve a bit of a reward for proving themselves, do they not old friend?"

Another nod, this time followed by a raised eyebrow and a touch of sarcasm. "Of course, Lucius, of course ... and you'll no doubt show them how it's done."

"You needn't act so put out, Severus. Join us tonight ... it will take your mind off of other things."

"No, I don't ... "

Malfoy watched a strange expression cover his companion's face as the darker man lifted his eyes from the house to seek out another several hundred yards away. "Severus?"

His head turned towards the voice and black eyes locked with gray. For a moment Malfoy was unsure if his old friend and erstwhile rival had sustained some injury or been poisoned but, as he stared, the other man's eyes cleared -- only to be filled with a grim satisfaction. "You will excuse me, Lucius," he told the older wizard. "I suddenly find that I have unfinished business to which I must attend."

Malfoy inclined his head and Snape flicked his wand at the sky above the house. "Morsmordre."

***

She awoke to pitch black and the sound of silence, completely unaware of why she had been wrenched from the dream at that particular moment. Had she been so inclined she would have recognized the dream for what it was but, as she had always held little tolerance for divination and because she had been nearly ten years away, she considered it nothing more than a mixture of too much wine and too many bad memories. At least, until she happened to look out her bedroom window five minutes later.

There, hovering above a small but growing conflagration across the street and five houses down, was the Dark Mark.

Her eyes widened in shock and terror, but it was the tall figure in black and silver who was approaching her door that inspired true fear. She looked wildly about her room for a weapon, for anything that could help her as she heard the locks on her door click open, and in a flash she all but flew into her closet and rummaged through the heavy trunk at the very back before remembering that she'd never moved it from its previous location. Back at her bedside she nearly tore off the mattress in search of a long narrow box that contained the one thing that could possibly aid her -- never mind that she had not even touched it in nearly ten years.

However, it was all for naught. She had barely taken hold of the box when she felt his long elegant fingers coil around her arm as his potions had once coiled in her blood. The box dropped onto the duvet with a quiet thud as she felt herself pulled upwards and turned, his other hand sliding into her hair and tilting her head back, but she squeezed her eyes shut rather than look directly into the eyes of her captor. 

"Hermione."

His voice was soft and cajoling, but she knew the velvet tones belied the steely core and whimpered as his fingers tightened in her hair. How had this happened, she wondered. How could she not have noticed the Peploes, how could she have not known them for what they were? How could she not have realized what the dream was? She vividly remembered the sensations that their connection provoked, so why had she not recognized the so-called dream as something that had happened between them so often that they had once considered it a blessing? Had the years so dulled her responses that she would not feel him until he was almost upon her? 

Her reverie was interrupted by a savage wrench that jerked her head back even farther and, with a strangled cry, she opened her eyes only to fall into the obsidian depths of Severus Snape. He caught her eyes in his and she was mesmerized, unable to look away even as she knew -- she *knew* -- that he was appraising her both internally and externally. And as she heard his low voice whisper something that replaced her crumpled silk blouse and wool trousers with a silken ankle length shift and a long-sleeved velvet robe with an empire waist, she knew that he was satisfied.

The sight of her clothes pooled on the floor reminded her that what he had done was not a tricky bit of transfiguration or even an elaborate conjuring, but rather an extremely complex bit of summoning. For summon them he had; she remembered the garments she now wore, though they were a bit tighter across her breasts and hips than when she had last had occasion to wear them. The paralyzing fear that had held her still now gave way to a surge of adrenaline that allowed her to break his hold and stumble a few feet away. His eyebrow lifted at her gesture of independence -- or in his eyes, defiance -- and he quickly caught her up again, this time pinning her arms behind her back and muttering a restraining charm. She stiffened in response and her eyes darted about the room wildly as if searching for the heroes that must surely be lurking in the corner to save her, unwilling to remember that those same heroes were dead and gone ... or worse. A flicker in the window caught her attention and she looked over her shoulder where, to her horror, she saw a cluster of Death Eaters standing just inside the courtyard outside her door. They seemed to be waiting on something and, with a motion of his hand, she realized that Snape had given them the signal to destroy the house.

A grimly satisfied smile played across his lips. "Hermione, my sweet, surely you did not expect to evade me forever?"

"Why can't you just go?" she whispered helplessly. "Leave, just leave and let me alone. Please? Just go ... "

Ebony fire danced in his eyes and his lips twisted into a near snarl as he listened to her pleas, one hand tracing its way down her tear-streaked face while the other pocketed the box she had dropped only moments before. "Why should I, my love? You are my wife, Hermione, and your place is at my side and in my bed. Now be still. We'll soon be home and there we will discuss your ... disobedience."

And as flames began licking at the walls, they disappeared.


	2. ACT II: The Fall of Dark

ANTI-LITIGATION CHARM: All recognizable characters and places related to the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Warner Brothers and Scholastic Publishing. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.

RATED: R [sex, implied BDSM] 

NOTES: This chapter introduces a concept that may be slightly similar to the one in "Recognition"; note that I haven't finished reading the aforementioned story (yet) so I'm not sure how closely the two are related. The idea herein was part of a plot bunny that developed last autumn. 

THANKS: To Claire, for beta reading.

Darkness Falls

Chapter the First:

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The Fall of Dark

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A married state affords but little ease

The best of husbands are so hard to please.

This in wives' careful faces you may spell

Though they dissemble their misfortunes well.

A virgin state is crowned with much content;

It's always happy as it's innocent.

No blustering husbands to create your fears;

No pangs of childbirth to extort your tears;

No children's cries for to offend your ears;

Few worldly crosses to distract your prayers:

Thus are you freed from all the cares that do

Attend on matrimony and a husband too.

Therefore Madam, be advised by me

Turn, turn apostate to love's levity,

Suppress wild nature if she dare rebel.

There's no such thing as leading apes in hell.

"A Married State" by Katherine Philips

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Ten years.

It had been ten years since the day he had returned home to find the house elves stunned and his wife missing, ten years since he had feared that their enemies or the indigents created by the war had somehow overpowered his beloved and spirited her away ... or worse. A decade had passed since the morning he had frantically sought out his old friend and sometimes enemy, Lucius, and requested the elder's assistance in the search. Half a score since the two had uncovered the damnably unvarnished truth -- she had left him of her own accord.

Ten years of whispers and pitying looks from well-meaning friends and ten years of fear from a world that was struggling to survive the utter devastation wrought by the war. Ten years of rage, of pent-up emotions, of heart-wrenching and mind-numbingly futile searching ... 

All ended in one serendipitous night.

It was ironic, he thought as he watched the first rays of dawn peek through the heavy green damask drapes and slide across the exposed limbs of the woman in his bed. Thirteen years -- to the day -- had passed since they had wed, ten since she had abandoned him out of fear, and on the morn of what was the thirteenth anniversary of their marriage she was returned to him. He could ask for nothing more, he realized. Whilst there were clearly issues still to be resolved betwixt the pair, he had seen to her punishment immediately upon arrival, treating his recalcitrant wife to the Law of Slytherin as it related to married couples. Not that she was unfamiliar with the Law; in the days prior to their union he had overseen her study of the rules by which she would be governed and answered all of her questions. In turn, she had sworn to abide by this code in same breath that she had sworn fidelity to him and his House. 

And while she had reneged on the former with her abandonment she had remained true to the latter, a feat which not only saved her life but eased the worst of his rage.

A rustle from the bed brought a smile to his face and he drained the remainder of the brandy he had been contemplating for the past hour. So his beloved was stirring, was she? Interesting ... it had been clear to him that she had been drinking earlier in the evening and it was just as obvious that she had been close to exhaustion prior to that. In short, the perfect state in which to be disciplined. Three short strides brought him to the bedside where he leaned idly against the heavy, ornately hand-carved poster and watched his wife blink away the last vestiges of a short sleep.

She was perfect ... there was no other word that could so aptly describe the vision before him. Eyes the color of finest sherry watched him guardedly through thick lashes and dusky chestnut curls tumbled about her shoulders and down her back, framing the bruises that bloomed across her pale flesh. They were darker than they had been earlier, he noted, his fingers stroking her lightly as she trembled, darker than when she had knelt before him and turned her tear-stained face upwards and begged his forgiveness. A plea he had acknowledged shortly thereafter; forgiveness was easily granted once the truth had come pouring forth, but she had violated the Law by which she had vowed to live and he had no choice but to exact retribution. And in truth, he had taken no little pleasure from the encounter. A decade without his wife, his beloved Hermione, had resulted in a torrent of emotion that, once unleashed, had had her screaming and crying for hours ... and left him feeling oddly satisfied and benevolent. 

"Good morning, my wife," he smiled, the old feeling of Belonging once more stirring his blood. "I trust you are feeling somewhat more rested, although such a brief respite is wholly inadequate."

Hermione relaxed a fraction at the tone of his voice. So, she thought, whatever punishment he felt she had warranted for her actions was concluded. "Good morning, H-husband," she whispered, her own voice still slightly hoarse from hours of screaming despite the potion he had forced down her throat before she had succumbed to Morpheus barely an hour before. "Severus ... "

"No, my love," he countered. "No more. I did only what was needed, Hermione, as you well know, and I will not punish you further ... though I cannot speak for how the others in our world will react. Your little disappearing act hurt a good many people, some of whom may not be as quick as I to forgive. I fear it may take time before you are accepted once again."

She brushed aside his words with the barest shrug of her shoulders, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by her husband. Instead of being upset by her dismissive action he was rather amused; it seemed little had changed in that, at least. He and his wife had in the past cared little for social gatherings and attended only those at which their presence was required, and he doubted that she now cared whether or not they were invited to visit with others of their station. However, he had not lied when he told her that there were those who had been hurt by her actions -- Minerva McGonagall and Regina Weasley Malfoy, to name but two. Even Voldemort had been surprised and worried when she disappeared but ironically, as the Heir of Slytherin, he would be the most likely to accept her return as well as any assurances that she had been properly chastised.

A tiny groan escaped her throat as she attempted to disentangle her limbs from the yards of linen in which they were ensnared. How had she managed to twist herself into such a position after the beating she had received? It seemed that her face was the only part of her body not aching and only because she knew that he had merely slapped her enough to jolt her out of her stupor, not hard enough to bruise. But before she could do any more she felt his fingers curl around her arms and she stilled instantly so as not to put more pressure on her battered flesh, but she did not try to pull away.

"Good girl," he whispered huskily as the dressing gown that he'd been wearing dissolved into a pool of brocade at his feet. "My love ... how I've missed you ... "

Surely he didn't mean to, she thought helplessly, not this morning while she was still reeling from the events that had transpired only hours before. But before she could even contemplate trying to distract him she felt her own passion rising, the bond that existed between them fueling her desire for a more intimate reunion. His laughter floated on the air and she knew that he could sense the conflicting combination of reluctance and hunger, knew that he would soon overpower the former and alleviate the latter ... 

Hermione cried out in pain and pleasure as he crawled across the bed and up her body, kneeling between her legs which parted of their own accord even as her hips lifted to treacherously rub against him. He chuckled at her reaction and rolled the seat of her pleasure between two fingers, eliciting a wail of ecstasy from her as she peaked. Shudders wracked her body at the pleasure strumming through her blood, pleasure that was magnified both by her connection to her husband and by the pain that blossomed as her already sensitized flesh was subjected to yet more abuse. Colors swam before her eyes and the rush of her blood sounded in her ears as she rode out the storm, gasping for breath as she came back to earth and found her mate smirking in satisfaction. A few seconds passed as she basked in the immediate aftermath and she moaned in protest when he suddenly pulled away, only to shriek out her delight once more as his lips encircled her tender pearl. Rapture built quickly, coming as it did on the heels of her previous climax, the pain becoming naught more than an extra stimulus as she was soon catapulted into the abyss once more. Caught in the throes of desire she reached blindly for her lover, desperate to feel her body crushed beneath his. 

A tiny mewling sound emerged from her throat as his lips claimed hers, a gentle but domineering act of ownership that left her painfully breathless and struggling to draw in air through her swollen mouth. "Please," she murmured, unaware of what she was saying as the bond continued to fuel their mutual hunger. "Please, Severus ... "

"Yes, Hermione, you do please me," he hissed against her mouth. 

Of course I please him, she thought hazily as she pressed her lips to the crook of his neck and her fingers slid lower to grasp his turgid length. I was born to please him just as he was born to please me ... we Belong to each other ... 

Severus growled deep in his throat as her tiny hand squeezed him gently. His manhood stood fully and painfully erect with a tiny drop of moisture glistening on its tip, and Hermione touched it with a trembling hand as marveled at how she had existed without him. So big, she thought dizzily, so very large, large enough to fill me completely and make me scream for mercy ... She leaned back on the array of pillows strewn throughout the bed and arched her hips in invitation, her thoughts scattering as he filled her in one sharp decisive thrust. 

Full, she was full of him and bursting with him ... Nothing had ever felt this wonderful and this horrible, ardor and agony vying for supremacy as each rush of pleasure coincided with a spurt of pain each time he pounded into her bruised sex. Oh, but this was surely the sweetest death, was the last thought to cross her mind as her arms encircled his shoulders even as she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, clinging to him in such a way that her tender pearl was rubbed by his now furious thrusts. She moaned and keened as she began to shake violently, her head tipping back as his name fell from her lips.

The fantasy that had sustained him for years had so suddenly become reality once more that Severus could wait no longer, shifting his body slightly to dislodge her legs so that he could grip her knees and force them towards her head. She was completely open to him now, even more so than when he had taken out his rage on her soft flesh a few hours earlier. He took only a few seconds, however, to gaze at the erotic picture she presented -- her neck arched and legs spread so that her desire gleamed in the early morning light -- but the image was burned into his mind as he thrust within her one last time before exploding as he reached his climax. 

Hermione mewled in frustration as she desperately tried to attain her release. She felt more than heard the rumble of laughter that emerged from his chest, her mewls of need becoming moans of protest as she felt him pull away from her once more. 

"What are you, Hermione?" he asked, his voice low and still husky from his recent exertion.

Confusion swamped her being as the need for rational thought warred with the demands of her body, but the insistent strum of the bond soon made clear his question. "I'm your wife," she answered, her throat tight as she waited to see if this was what he wanted.

It was. "And why," he continued, a languid finger caressing the pearl of her desire, "Hermione, are you my wife?"

"Because I Belong to you," she sobbed, tears of pain and shame mingling with those of the fierce need that sang in her blood. "I Belong to you, Severus, I always have ... I always will ... please, please ... "

"Yes, my love, you do Belong to me ... remember that," he drawled softly. 

And then the tension that had been building began to peak again as he smiled in self-assured satisfaction and she screamed his name as she tumbled from atop the precipice on which she'd been teetering, falling faster and faster until she dissolved into sheer ecstasy before fading into the velvet darkness that rose up from below to enfold her in its grasp.

As the storm of passion began to retreat Severus found himself collapsing in satiation next to the unconscious body of his wife. He reached out and pulled her close, rolling their bodies until her back was nestled against his chest and her head tucked under his chin, both of them cocooned in the mutual sense of rightness that their union provided. Oh, yes, this was what had been missing ... 

Finally reunited, they slept.

+++++

It's funny how things turn out. 

What is darkness? What makes a witch or a wizard dark? Why is it that a lust for power leads some to darkness and others to carelessness and bureaucratic bastardy? How does darkness alter our landscapes -- the physical, geographical, emotional, psychological and magical things and places that make up our world? 

How does one know how and when darkness falls? 

The darkness that befell her had its beginnings before her birth, yet it was nothing so simple as war or dark wizards or even Voldemort himself that caused the shadows to gather. Even caught in the throes of sleep Hermione's mind continued its path toward reconciling her feelings and convictions with the harsh realities that dominated the world to which she had returned. And within this web of truth and deceit, she dreamed.

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Her wedding day had been beautiful. 

She had never dreamed of lavish ceremonies or gazed at dresses the way her Muggle peers had when she was younger and, later on, she had rolled her eyes when Lavender and Parvati giggled over the variations in wizarding handfastings. And when Voldemort had been returned to his body and the war that had been brewing finally erupted, she had ceased to think of anything but the present and how to survive to see the dawning of a new day. 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,' her grandmother had once remarked; no need to borrow trouble. 

And she hadn't. So after all the death and destruction she had seen she would never have believed that the day she and Severus were wed would be the beginning of a darkness that would consume everything she held dear. 

There had been foreshadowing, of course, but she had not seen it as such; and to be truthful the seeds that would flourish in the years to come and bring such pain had already been planted. Her relationship with Severus Snape being what it was, she had realized early on that there would be no objections to their union provided she adhered to a Slytherin code of conduct. Once more, he taught and she learned; the code seemed so perfectly innocuous a thing to agree to, especially given the state of their world. 

__

The morning had dawned bright and clear with the promise of a beautiful spring day. She had risen early to watch the sunrise before returning to her bed for a few more hours sleep, never knowing that the vows she would take come nightfall would seal her to more than her husband. At dusk she had been marked by Ginny Weasley and Minerva McGonagall, her chosen witnesses, with all the appropriate symbols for a witch who was to be handfasted to a wizard who belonged to one of the Old Houses. Then came the simple pale cream linen dress with long bell-sleeves that was cinched just above her hips with a length of silk rope, the folds of the soft material falling in waves to her bare feet. Resting a few inches above the embroidered square neckline was a large ruby teardrop suspended from a gold chain that was looped thrice around her neck, both a symbol of Gryffindor House and of the contentment and stability she would bring to their union ... and that their union would bring to their world.

Later everyone had agreed that the Beltane Eve handfasting of forty year old Severus Snape and nineteen (or rather, twenty if one counted the effects of the time turner) year old Hermione Granger was a most auspicious omen indeed, especially given that it was supported by both Minerva McGonagall and Lord Voldemort -- both of whom were present and acting as witnesses along with Lucius Malfoy and young Regina Weasley. That three Slytherin wizards and three Gryffindor witches had comprised the players was seen as a sign, had any still been in need, of the changes that were already in motion. Changes that had only become apparent to Hermione months later ... along with another twist in the fabric of her life. 

__

The fire crackled and the flames climbed higher and tangled themselves into a frenzy as a pair of lovers sat in the cozy solitude of the library in his ancestral home, both uncaring that the howling wind poured snow across the moors and buried the landscape under a blanket of white. They had lingered longer over the books tonight than was their wont, still replete from the marvelous supper that the house elves had prepared earlier in the evening. Though she still harbored many concerns about the plight of the elves she had, in submitting to the Law of Slytherin, agreed to cease all her attempts to change the status of the creatures; and, in truth, there were far more important things that needed attention.

Tonight, however, her mind was lingering over the strange dreams she and her husband had been having ... or sharing, to be frank. Severus had explained it away quite easily, calling it one of the side effects of Belonging; curious, she had retreated to the library to search for information on the phenomenon that he had mentioned. Hours later she was still pondering what she had learned, more than a little concerned as to why he had neglected to mention this before, and she was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she did not notice when he put aside his books and she became the sole focus of his attention. 

"Hermione."

She was jerked out of her reverie by the sound of his voice calling her name and looked up to find amusement in his glittering black eyes. "I'm sorry, Severus ... my mind was elsewhere."

"Obviously," he replied with a smile. "What is it that is so occupying your thoughts?"

"Belonging."

"Ah." He leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands as he considered her unasked question. Was she ready to understand what it meant? "Tell me, what information did your searches yield?"

Hermione fought the urge to demand that he tell her what was happening, had happened; he knew her well enough to know that she would search out an answer but he also knew exactly what information was available, just as he had when she was a student. Every now and again she found his habit of reverting to type annoying. "It's an ancient phenomenon," she sighed. "It affects all those born with magic, regardless of blood, and every witch or wizard has someone to whom they belong; conversely, every witch or wizard has someone who belongs to them. And it has something to do with power."

His lips quirked, suppressing a smile, as he heard the annoyance in her voice at being forced to recite facts like a first year ... never mind that she had always seemed to enjoy reciting facts. Still, he understood that when in search of knowledge she cared little for such trifles. "True enough," he acknowledged. "However, it goes so much deeper. Belonging occurs between two people who belong to one another; as you no doubt discovered, it exists in each of us but only becomes active, if you will, when the two who Belong together are joined -- although it is possible for someone to recognize their respective partner prior to joining."

"And the joining is ... sexual?" she asked uneasily.

"Always."

"B-but," she stammered. "How does it work?"

He examined her for a moment. "How do you think it works, Hermione?"

She started at his words, both curious and apprehensive all at once, but studied his face for clues as to what he meant. His countenance was as inscrutable as it had ever been when he was being close-minded, but as she stared she became aware of something nagging at the back of her consciousness, something that urged to look more closely at the man before her. 'Look without your eyes,' it seemed to whisper; acquiescing, she felt her eyes slide shut as she focused her will on her husband. At first there was nothing but the crackle of the fire and the feeling of tension as she concentrated and then ... then there was a tiny whisper of emotion not her own. It was gone quickly and she began to despair of ever understanding what her husband seemed to grasp so easily, only to find she was suddenly besieged by a multitude of Severus' emotions. The tiny fissure through which that first sliver of feeling had passed had coalesced into an open door that she was soon forced to slam shut, unable to handle the barrage of sensation emanating from him. 

"Empathy," she whispered, still in shock over her discovery. 

"Yes ... "

"An empathic bond," she marveled as she regained possession of her mental bearings. "But ... what has that to do with power? It could be useful if we were ever forcibly separated, power over our enemies and all that, but otherwise ... "

Severus considered his options carefully, weighing each one in his mind as he contemplated her possible reactions. Finally he decided on a practical demonstration; it would no doubt be upsetting and possibly even ever so slightly humiliating, but there was nothing else to be done. She was his wife and she Belonged to him -- it was time she understood the full magnitude of her situation. "Hermione, come here."

She opened her mouth to tell him that she was only a few short feet from him when the need to obey him rose from below her consciousness. Suddenly and without warning she felt herself stand and cross to his side, standing before him in shock as her control of her body disappeared. No, not disappeared she thought a moment later; her will to do otherwise was simply gone and, in its place, his will had taken precedence. She **wanted** to do as he commanded because there was now only one will between them. His. 

"This is the power the books allude to," he whispered and she felt herself kneel at his feet at the unspoken command, lifting her face to his. "You Belong to me, Hermione, just as I Belong to you ... but only one of us may rule and that is my burden to carry."

Hermione felt tears begin to fall and hardly noticed when the compulsion that had brought her to his feet ended and he lifted her onto his lap, cradling her close as he soothed her with murmured words of love and reassurance. As she realized that her will had been restored she began to sob, heavy gut-wrenching cries that told Severus more about her emotional state than words ever could. He continued his soothing litany and began rubbing small circles on her back, trying to ease the blow he'd dealt her as her breathing slowly began to slow. 

"T-tell m-me," she demanded weakly, her voice hitching due to the surfeit of emotion that had caused her outburst. "I-I need t-to know."

"With each pair that Belongs together there is one who will rule and one who will yield, one to dominate and one to submit," he told her gently. "Even if our sexes and lineages were reversed I would still be the dominant party, Hermione. As someone, a Muggle I believe, once said, we are more than the sum of our parts. You do not submit to me because you are a Muggleborn witch, but because you were born to do so."

Her sobs and tears subsided after a few moments but she was still on edge, still trying to cope with the sense of violation that had been perpetrated by her husband. Only it wasn't really a violation, she thought bitterly. I only think of it that way because I didn't know about this ... I didn't know about this beforehand ... "You knew."

"Yes," he replied evenly.

Demanding sherry-colored eyes met glittering black. "How long?"

"How long have I known what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "About Belonging? Since my father took me aside as young boy and explained why his relationship with my mother seemed so different from those of their peers. That **you** Belonged to me? Since the moment you set foot in the Great Hall to be Sorted."

Her eyes widened.

"But if you mean how long I've know **about** you," he continued, his voice dropping until it was barely above a whisper. 

She nodded even though she had already discerned the answer.

"I've known since the moment you were born," he murmured into her ear, his teeth gently biting down on the sensitive flesh. "I did not know who or where you were, but I knew in that instance that you Belonged to me ... as did Voldemort."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock and he shook his head. "He did not know your identity, nor did I, but at the moment of your birth he and I were together and he knew what had occurred as soon as I did. It's not often that those that Belong together are aware of one another, my love, and he considered it a momentous occasion ... " 

"But I **didn't** know," she protested.

"Didn't you?" he raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me truthfully, Hermione, why did you seek my approval all the years you were in school? It wasn't simply that you wanted the admiration of all your teachers, it wasn't even that you wanted me to notice your abilities when I ignored almost everyone else ... "

"I ... I ... "

"Yes?"

Silence reigned. All they could hear was the popping of the fire and, distantly, the wind as it howled. "I wanted you to notice me," she finally confessed in a whisper. "I never knew why, it never made sense, it was completely illogical! But ... "

"You still wanted it," he finished.

"Yes."

"And you were ashamed of what you felt."

She ducked her head. "Yes."

"Ssshh, love," he crooned as he wiped away a stray tear. "It was a natural reaction, Hermione. You didn't know what it was that drew you to me and, because you were Muggleborn and thus raised in a world with different rules, I kept my own counsel. Even Dumbledore was unaware, though I believe he began to suspect after the Yule Ball your fourth year ... "

"Is that why you were so nasty to us?" she asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. 

"I would have been nasty, as you put it, to Potter and possibly Weasley in any event," he informed her. "That they were your near constant companions -- and always seemed to be dragging you into mortal peril -- did not increase my opinion of them. On the contrary."

"And me?"

He regarded her seriously. "You were an annoying Gryffindor know-it-all, but you were **my** annoying Gryffindor know-it-all. Having to see you with them every day for years ... you have no idea how close I came to telling Albus the truth and demanding that he turn you over to me. There were days when I wanted nothing more than to pluck you from that damned tower and carry you back to my bed and keep you there until you begged for mercy."

"I was only a child!" she shrieked. "How could you -- "

"You **were** a child, Hermione," he pointed out. "Once you reached menarche and began to mature I began to feel more strongly that your place was at my side ... or at least far from those two boys. We shan't mention Krum. And once you came of age your fifth year it took every ounce of strength I had left to stop myself from flinging you against the nearest wall and damn whoever saw. Then the open hostilities of war began, Albus died and the Plague came ... "

Eyes closed, she shuddered at the image his words painted in her mind. Was it possible that the bond had somehow managed to connect them without any actual contact, she wondered? His revelation came so close to one of her more potent recurring fantasies from that time. "Severus ... "

"Hermione," he whispered, his hand resting gently on the slight swell of her stomach. "I do love you, my precious one ... "

+++++

She woke to find tears soaking her pillow and her husband pressed close behind, the pain from the bruises only a trifle compared to the ache in her heart. His voice, like it had so long ago, whispered soothing words meant to comfort although they both knew that no words could ease her heartbreak. 

"Ssshh, my love," he murmured gently as one arm reached around to draw her closer. "My darling Hermione, my wife ... "

Her cries came harder and her bruised ribs protested violently as she sobbed uncontrollably, all her fears and insecurities and anger pouring forth in a great salty river that seemed never-ending. And, like before, his hand came to rest on the flat plane of her stomach as he continued to soothe her miasma of conflicting and volatile emotions until only silent tears streaked down her face. "It will be better this time," he told her softly, his agile and ruthless mind already making plans. "You're home, my love, my dearest heart ... and there will be other children. Soon, Hermione, very soon now ... " 

END CH 1 

I know, I know, I can practically hear your questions. _The Law of Slytherin? Voldemort and McGonagall in agreement? Lucius not being a prejudiced bastard? The Plague?_ In due time, dear readers, in due time. 


	3. ACT III: Twilight's Last Gleaming

ANTI-LITIGATION CHARM: All recognizable characters and places related to the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Warner Brothers and Scholastic Publishing. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.  
  
RATED: R [sex, implied BDSM, possible squick ahead]   
  
NOTES: Italics indicate a flashback.  
  
THANKS: To Claire, for beta reading.  
  
  
  
Chapter the Second:  
_Twilight's Last Gleaming_  
  
  
+ + + + +  
  
_When we met first and loved, I did not build  
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean  
To last, a love set pendulous between  
Sorrow and sorrow?_  
  
-- Elizabeth Barrett Browning  
"Sonnets from the Portuguese" (XXXVI)  
  
+ + + + +  
  
Morning.  
  
The morning after the morning after.  
  
Hermione stretched her limbs languidly and basked in the sunlight that streamed through the leaded glass windows, the aches and pains that had so riddled her just a day earlier vanished with the new dawn. And a measure of medi-potions and a few good healing charms, she thought wryly as she pulled herself upright and surveyed her chambers. Twenty-first century Muggle medicine had made some truly incredible advances but, now that she was once more ensconced in the Wizarding world, she wondered how she had managed for ten years without utilizing the training she'd received from Poppy Pomfrey and the other mediwitches and wizards that belonged to the Order.   
  
A laugh strangled in her throat at the thought; she'd been more optimistic ten years ago when she had no plans beyond the immediate one that would return her to the Muggle world. Was her newfound criticism the result of her husband or had it been there all along, buried beneath her carefully crafted outward persona? Not that it mattered, not now anyway, she sighed inwardly as she allowed her eyes to drift. Severus had made it quite, quite clear that any future attempts to escape would be treated the same as infidelity.  
  
And while she might not know quite why she was still living, she did know that she had no wish to die.  
  
"Mistress Snape! You is home!"  
  
A small smile quirked her lips as she listened to the enthusiastic babbling of the house-elf, Meggy, who was now moving back and forth through the room at a speed that boggled the mind. Robes and dresses were pulled out of the tall armoire at the same time that brushes and combs found their way to the top of the vanity table, and Hermione was sure that, if she tried, she would hear the sound of water filling the bathing pool in the next room. She shook her head at Meggy's babbles and sought instead the warm water that awaited her, sinking into the soft lightly scented bath a mere moment later.   
  
This was a slice of heaven on earth, she thought as she settled into the seat carved into the side of the granite pool; even the whirlpool tub in her London bathroom couldn't even begin to compare. Nothing could, really. This was simply one of the benefits that came from being born of magic, one of the few bright lights in an otherwise dark world. And I would know, she sighed in sorrow.   
  
An hour later Hermione had abandoned her watery contemplation on the state of the Wizarding world to stand in front of the long oval mirror -- which had been charmed silent by Severus years ago -- and contemplate her appearance. It was strange; she had spent better than half of her life in Muggle clothes but the robes and gowns she had donned once again felt more natural than anything else she'd ever worn. Both were made of a blend of linen and silk that was light enough to be comfortable in the spring sun but still just heavy enough to protect her from the cool drafts in the manor that even the best warming charms could not prevent. However, unlike the ones Severus had summoned the other night these were made differently, although Meggy had been forced to alter them to account for ten years worth of growth. The dress was very similar to the one which she had worn to her handfasting, she realized belatedly, only this incarnation was a rich shade of darkest green with sleeveless robes -- much like those McGonagall wore -- in a lighter shade of the same color. But this time the embroidery on the dress was ivory and a brilliant emerald hung from a silver chain looped around her neck ... the result was simple yet elegant, a delicate mixture that suited her as much today as it had years ago.   
  
All in all she was the very image of an innocent (chastised) and submissive (penitent) young wife.  
  
"Much better."  
  
Hermione averted her eyes from the mirror to meet those of her husband who sat in a nearby chair, his hands steepled as he studied her intently. The years had been more than kind, he finally decided after a moment's perusal. Her sherry-colored eyes were as intent and focused as they had ever been and while she had grown no taller her figure was perhaps a touch more curvaceous, two pregnancies notwithstanding, and the chestnut curls that were now hidden within the confines of her gabled headdress were perhaps a shade darker. At this he chuckled; even as a student her feelings about the traditional pointed hats had been ambivalent at best and, once married, she had exchanged them for the nearest available alternatives. Only when circumstances dictated would she don the taller hats and even then her choice was the medieval incarnation that sported a veil as opposed to the typical black witch's hat. It appeared that in this, too, nothing had changed.  
  
"I appear to be dressed in Slytherin colors. Your idea, I presume?"  
  
He tilted his head in affirmation. "Indeed. I did inform Meggy to be subtle, however, which would account for the darker hue and the lack of silver trim."  
  
Hermione had to refrain from openly boggling at her husband's remark. After so many years away she had obviously forgotten that Severus was, despite his attire during her school days, quite conscientious about dress and sumptuary laws. It felt strange to remember that she had known (and still knew) this and yet be as stunned as she had thirteen years ago upon first learning about his dress savvy. "Of course," she replied sarcastically. "How thoughtless of me."  
  
Black eyes studied her for a moment. "Lord Voldemort will arrive within the hour," he began, his voice deceptively soft and deadly. "While he will accept my word that you have seen the error of your ways he wishes to see you as well, most likely to assure himself as to your ... penitence. That you are wearing Slytherin colors will not escape his notice; it is not so much a gesture of one trying to curry favor as it is an acknowledgment of both his lineage and the Law under which you will again reside. In essence, Hermione, you will once more be pledging fealty to House Slytherin and its Law.  
  
Besides," he finished, "Minerva is the only one who can wear red and gold in his presence and fear no repercussions. And while this sort of audience calls for heraldic attire its privacy allows for a slight ... twisting of the rules."  
  
Of course, she thought snidely. Twisting the rules to make the ends justify the means is perfectly acceptable but breaking the rules out of necessity is not. Typical Slytherin. "I see."  
  
"Do you?"  
  
His question caught her off guard. "Yes," she answered truthfully. "I do understand what you're doing and why ... I just don't happen to agree. Much the same as last time, I'm afraid."  
  
"And this time?"  
  
He watched her as she took a deep breath and, as she exhaled her emotion, he could see the anger and hurt and lingering despair that filled her eyes; the shadows that she couldn't will away and specter of hurts past that a decade had not healed. Silly, foolish ... brilliant Hermione. His cherished love. Did she not know that she would only heal by living? Hiding away in the Muggle world had been dangerous and foolhardy and pointless -- what had she accomplished? Had she dealt with her pain or simply buried it beneath the monotony of daily existence?   
  
"Has anything changed?"  
  
Severus caught her eyes with his own and held them while he responded. "You know the answer to that, Hermione."   
  
"Yes, I do," she whispered. "My reasons for leaving are just as valid today as they were ten years ago."  
  
"And what would you have us do?" His voice was still quiet but he had risen from the chair to pace the floor behind her as she stared out the window. "You were there when the decision was made, my love, and you made no objections -- "  
  
She whirled from the window to face him, the color in her face rising with her anger. "I didn't know you were killing the families!"  
  
"I shall repeat, what would you have us do?" he asked, looming over her as she crowded back against the side of the bank of windows. "Take the children and leave the parents frantic? Three hundred years ago that would have worked but the Muggles have become too observant, too apt to notice that certain babies and young children regularly vanish without so much as a trace. Obliviating the parents is not an option because too many people know about the pregnancies and births. Few in the government recall that we exist, for which favor much thanks, but there are those who are beyond our reach and who could make the connection given the appropriate circumstances."  
  
"And if the routine deaths of various families isn't 'appropriate circumstances' then -- "   
  
She broke off with a cry and winced as his hands gripped her upper arms hard enough to bruise, his sable eyes boring into hers with a ferocity she hadn't seen since the war. Anger, love, hate and desire all swirled in those fathomless depths and she found herself drowning in pools of darkness as his harsh whisper filled her ears. "We are careful," he murmured, his lips sliding over her temple. "We arrange the accidents or whatever else is needed to disguise the quick and painless deaths we give them. The rise in senseless attacks between the Muggles themselves only serves to aid our cause -- they are simply one more unfortunate family fallen victim to all-to-common acts of violence."  
  
Hermione trembled in his arms as his words crashed over her like waves breaking on a stormy coast. How could he say that so easily? How could he DO those things? How could her husband ... how could he after what they had lost ...   
  
"Oh, Hermione," he sighed as he gathered her trembling form into his arms. "I know what it is you believe, what you feel, but do you not realize that they would be forced to bear the same unnatural loss as we if they lived? Better for them to never feel this ache. Better for them to die."  
  
Better for them to die.  
  
_"Better for them to die."  
  
She looked up from her patient to stare in shocked disbelief at the man before her. Tired and drawn as much from the war effort as from his own pain, Severus Snape showed little remorse for his words and even less for their effect on the young woman at whom they were directed. Her eyes darted between him and her patient, the senior prefect from Gryffindor who had taken ill the previous afternoon and had been deteriorating ever since. "How ... how can you even think such a thing?"  
  
"And why not?" he responded archly. "You are expending your energies on him when they would be better suited tending to those injured in battle. We know this Plague now, Miss Granger. If he is going to die he will die and there is nothing you or I can do to stop that."  
  
Hermione looked away lest he see the anger she knew was apparent on her face and in her eyes. "Maybe so, Professor, but it's my energy to expend, isn't it? And if I can ease his passing ... so much the better."  
  
Because she was looking away she did not see the violent twitch he gave at her words or the way his mouth tightened with displeasure and his eyes narrowly appraised her. Scant moments later he turned and stalked off towards Poppy Pomfrey and the mediwizards from the Order who had abandoned St. Mungo's for Hogwarts upon the death of Albus Dumbledore a year earlier. She turned back to her patient with a sigh, once more wringing out a cloth with which to bathe his fevered head before trying to administer another analgesic potion; it wouldn't do anything for the fever that was slowly but surely obliterating his internal organs but it might alleviate some of the worst of the pain. If he was still conscious, she realized, despair crossing her features. It wouldn't be long now.  
  
When Snape crossed back through the ward two hours later he stopped only with the intention of relieving her of her post and sending her to get some much needed rest. He had not only realized that she would wear herself out caring for these poor unfortunates but, short of invoking Belonging, there was little he could do to stop her; Pomfrey, however, could and would. What he found when he drew back the curtain, however, was not what he had expected.   
  
He found not a dying patient and a frustrated yet still determined friend and healer but a witch holding a vigil, looking so much at that moment like a priestess of old that the chills that crawled up his back actually made him shiver. She sat as still as stone before the boy -- no, young man -- she had wrapped in his shroud, a white witchfire in her hands as she chanted. The voice that emerged was soft but clear, the sound of one unafraid to mourn, but he stilled as he listened to the litany that fell unknowing from her lips.  
  
"Go home now, to the mother of winter," she sang sadly. "Go home now, to your springtime home. Go home now, to the mother of summer. Go home now, to your autumn h-home," her voice caught on the last syllable but she plowed onward and, as she did, he heard other voices join hers in the final refrain. "Sleep, oh sleep now. Sleep, oh sleep. Sleep against her sacred breast. Sleep, oh sleep. Sleep this night, let her give you rest."  
  
Medieval death chant from Ireland, a little voice in his mind supplied as the impromptu choir of voices died away and she set the witchfire into a charmed glass to keep until it would be used to light his pyre. I wonder where she learned it. From a book? From one of her housemates? From him?   
  
She answered his unasked question as if she had heard it spoken aloud. "We sang it for Seamus a few d-days ago ... h-he said that if anything happened ... "  
  
"Come, girl," he said softly as he steadied her before she could fall. "You need to rest and the others ... will do their best. But you must rest."  
  
Her reply was toneless. "Yes, Professor."  
  
"I'm not your Professor," he told her, watching as the shock of his words roused her from her stupor. "I'm no one's professor, nor have I been in nearly a year. Why do you think no one has mentioned classes and books, much less OWLS and NEWTS? Look around ... we're all too busy to teach the younger students, Miss Granger, so that particular obligation has fallen to those of your classmates who are still among the living but unneeded on the field of battle."  
  
A frown flitted across her face at his words. She knew this already; in fact, before she had joined the healers working in the Hospital Wing she had been the one to organize the impromptu classes and find teachers from among those of the Sixth Form who had remained at (or been forced to return to) Hogwarts. It was a way to keep everyone busy, especially those who had lost family members or close friends, to keep people from panicking needlessly or becoming a burden in their grief. So why would he ... Mahogany eyes filled with tears as the impact of what happened finally sank in and he pulled her into the relative privacy of the linen storeroom as the trembling gave way to fully-fledged sobs, her chest heaving with the force of her grief. Rather than allow her to collapse he pulled her close, his arms sliding around her middle as he held her through the worst of her grief. "Cry, Hermione," he murmured into her hair. "Just cry for now."  
  
That her given name had fallen so easily from the lips of the cruelest teacher in the school would have surprised her had she not been so lost in her grief. He tightened his hold on her soft pliable body as she began to mumble, pain for her plight mingling with a sense of satisfaction.  
  
"Ron," she cried jaggedly, her voice growing thick and low with a surfeit of emotion. "Oh, Ron, Ron, why, why, why ... "  
_  
"Better?" she hissed as her eyes refocused, the pain of days past mingling with the anger and helplessness that had been stewing for ten long years. "Quick and painless? Then what was the other night, husband? Tell me, why torture the Peploes, why did you -- ?"  
  
Her words were cut off when his mouth covered hers in a savage kiss, their tongues and teeth battling for supremacy as the dark passion that burned within them both rose from below. Like a slumbering fire whose flames were fanned nearly out-of-control, he drove their fully clothed bodies together as he continued his assault on her mouth, the need to dominate warring with the almost instinctual desire to fall at her feet in worship. And beneath it all, the desire to claim and consume one another.  
  
"Hermione, enough," he groaned, panting as he broke the kiss and drew back to face her. "We cannot pursue ... pursue this any further until ... "   
  
"Please ... what have you ... please ... " she whimpered, clawing at him in an attempt to divest him of his clothes.   
  
He remained perfectly still as the fog of passion began to clear and she regained her bearings, watching as she lectured herself about submitting without a fight before he pulled away and stalked across the room to the brandy decanter. Two glasses later he turned back to her, smirking as he watched her fuss with the headdress that was sent askew by the force of their passion. "Why, you asked me," he snorted and she jerked her head around to find his eyes boring holes into her. "Peploe was the name of her Muggle husband."  
  
Hermione felt a frisson of shock at his words. "How -- "  
  
"Do not interrupt me, wife," he hissed. "You wanted to know ... She was a Hufflepuff about three years your senior who gave birth out of wedlock, so the child carried her name when it was recorded by the Enrollment Quill. They both survived the Plague but she somehow found a way into the Muggle world where she married her child's father and both took his name, hence we were unable to discern their whereabouts."  
  
As he spoke his voice cooled and became more even, the soft modulated tones no less frightening that his rage had been. "When Amelia Peploe's name went down on the roster we were understandably confused and the records were searched to see if we had somehow missed her. Or perhaps she had been born abroad or to parents who only recently immigrated to Britain. What we found ... what we found was a woman who had spent years in the Muggle world and who was poised to flee to the States with her child once this term was complete."  
  
"If she had left ... " Hermione trailed off, the true horror of the situation dawning.   
  
"Yes, you begin to see," he remarked. "You, my recalcitrant wife, had enough sense to stay in Britain."  
  
"I," she swallowed. "I knew what I could happen if I left. So I didn't. Leave, I mean."  
  
Her husband raised an eyebrow at her sudden inability to form coherent sentences. "Do stop babbling, Hermione."  
  
She flushed in angry embarrassment but said nothing.  
  
His lips quirked and then his expression flattened. "She was contacted, of course. Every incentive was offered; we even agreed to allow her to bring the Muggle along provided she and her child returned to our world as quickly as possible lest she continue to contaminate unsuspecting foreigners who ignored the warnings. Once she declined our offers she was told that we would not -- could not -- allow her to leave the country. I do not believe that she gave our warnings any heed. Stupid woman. Arrangements were made to keep Amelia at Hogwarts during the holidays and a family was located as well ... "  
  
Hermione felt her eyes water and she bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling as her anger was suddenly and abruptly overcome by something else entirely. The poor little girl; she left her home never knowing that it would be the last time she would see her parents. A rush of empathy brought forth a torrent of old grief, of leaving her parents at King's Cross at the start of sixth year only to discover their deaths seven months later not from Minerva or even the man she eventually married but from the front page of the Daily Prophet. Anger remained, oh yes, but her heart broke for Daniel's young friend.  
  
"As to the torture," he shrugged. "I care little for such things but I was ... outvoted. Lucius' little gang of hellions were conscripted because Voldemort wanted an example made, nothing more, and I agreed to supervise the outing in order to minimize contact with others. Imagine my surprise ... "  
  
She nodded her head in acknowledgement of the irony. Their perverse but necessary attempt to prevent the spread of the Plague and conceal the truth, the very thing that had hastened her departure a decade earlier, had been the very vehicle through which she was returned to her husband. "Severus, what of Amelia? And ... I know she had a brother, once ... "  
  
"Why the boy died is unknown," he responded as he took her by the arm and led her out the door of their chambers and down the long hall to the central stairs. "The girl has been settled with the Fawcetts, however, and is being told only that her family was tragically killed in an accident. Lucius contrived to make it appear that she was home during the attack; the Muggle authorities seem satisfied."  
  
After a few moments of silent progress during which she wrestled her volatile emotions into a semblance of order, they came to a stop at the head of the stairs. "Lord Voldemort awaits you in the library, my Hermione," he whispered against her mouth. "I will be down later."  
  
+ + + + +  
  
When he finally joined her in the library the last vestige of light was fading from the spring sky, the shadows lengthening and stretching their spindly fingers across the landscape as the stars began to shimmer in the ever-darkening firmament. She had changed, he noted, arraying herself in robes of verdant velvet and a heavy high-necked gown in cloth of gold in anticipation of the dinner they were hosting that evening. That she was well and apparently unharmed after her audience with the Dark Lord allowed him to relax his concern a fraction, but his worry had by no means abated. Just after he had emerged from the laboratory the house-elves had informed him that while Lord Voldemort departed hours earlier he would return in time for the sumptuous meal, so he had hastened his steps and gone in search of his wife. He had not thought that she would return to the library, an oversight he regretted, and had sought her elsewhere, becoming agitated and worried when she failed to appear in each new location. Thus it was with a great relief that he crossed the room to the long window where his wife stood gazing at the gardens as the day gave way to night, the daylilies closing in on themselves even as the nocturnal blooms began to unfurl their petals in the cooler air. Only the roses seemed unchanged, the sturdy and fragrant blossoms planted by some long dead ancestress somehow unpretentious even as they consumed nearly half of the available space. They weathered the flux and turn of the sun and moon with a certain grace that the others did not in much the same manner as Hermione ... or as she once did. He was anxious and concerned for his wife in the aftermath of her encounter, but resolved that she would overcome any lingering uncertainties and take her place at his side with all the pleasure and determination as before.  
  
"It went well," she spoke suddenly, interrupting his slight reverie and anticipating his question.  
  
"And?"  
  
She raised one shoulder in a shrug. "He was ... satisfied that I have seen the foolishness of my actions. Happy that I have returned ... "  
  
_"It does my dark heart good to see you, my dear," came the hissing voice as his hands pulled her from where she knelt at his feet. The black robes that came into view were austere, ornamented only by the silver runes that fluttered just above the bottom hem and a silver clasp in the shape of a serpent. She raised her eyes to his, schooling herself not to react to the papery thin white flesh that stretched across his features or the crimson orbs that seemed to pierce her very soul.   
  
"You are too kind, my lord," she murmured, accepting the seat he indicated.  
  
"I think not," he returned, tilting her face upward to study her visage. "My trust in Severus is absolute in this matter, Hermione. He may have strayed from me in the past ... and perhaps rightfully so, at that. His dedication to the Law of Slytherin, however, has never been and is not now in dispute; he has assured me that you were punished accordingly. Is this true?"  
  
"Yes, my lord," she whispered, shame and anger vying for dominance as she remembered the pain and humiliation that Severus had visited on her less than forty-eight hours past.   
  
He studied her for a moment, taking in the way she averted her eyes and the way she had colored at the mention of punishment. So that was the way it was ... "Yes, I do believe you were."  
  
Hermione closed her eyes, mortified that he had read her so easily and deduced the cause. Why, oh why had he been so happy to hurt her? And why couldn't she maintain her anger over that mistreatment, valid as it had been under the Law?  
  
Voldemort chuckled, a strange raspy sound that was somehow worse than anything she had heard during the war. "Open your eyes, girl," he commanded. "Open your eyes and tell me why you were punished."  
  
"I ... I abandoned my husband," she said softly, her chest tightening as she forced herself to say the words that she knew she must. "I also abandoned my responsibilities to him and our House and, by Slytherin's Law, he had every right to exact justice for the wrong done him."  
  
"And now?"  
  
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I now comprehend the gravity of my transgression, the danger to which I exposed myself, my husband and countless others. Never again will I even contemplate such action. I Belong to my husband, Severus Snape, and I beseech you my lord Voldemort, as the Heir of Slytherin, to forgive me as he has done."  
  
Hermione shuddered as she felt him loop a stray curl around his finger but a smile split Voldemort's thin lips as he replied, "You are forgiven, good-daughter of my house. Rise and we shall forget this transgression."  
  
Head bowed, she murmured her thanks.   
  
He chuckled again and she repressed a shudder. "Yes, I am pleased to see you once more at your husband's side, Hermione; he has missed you terribly. The pain is not all yours, as I am sure you have since learned, but I am certain that the hole left by Marius will soon be filled, yes?"  
  
She nodded.   
  
"Good," he replied. "I'm sure Severus will be pleased."  
  
Hermione absently bit her lip. "My lord," she ventured. "May I ask a question?"  
  
He tilted his head in affirmation. "You may."  
  
"What will happen to Amelia Peploe?"  
  
"Amelia Fawcett," he stressed the difference ever so slightly. "The girl is being settled with her new family who will no doubt help her cope with her grief. A pity she's too old to Obliviate; even more disheartening that she wasn't found sooner. Why do you ask?"   
  
"My neighbor, my former neighbor," she amended quickly, "had a son that was a friend of Amelia's. I know that I cannot tell him anything to set his mind at ease, but I would like to know ... if only for his sake."  
  
Voldemort raised what passed for his eyebrows. "You are acquainted with the boy?"  
  
Hermione's heart skipped a beat. The boy? Did they ... why would they have him? "My lord? Do you refer to Daniel Thornton?"  
  
"Of course," he sounded surprised. "I assumed Severus would have told you. The Enrollment Quill took down his name when he displayed his first instance of talent, mere hours after your return, likely due to trauma according to the mediwizard who administered a calming potion after he was collected. Minerva assures me that Muggleborns occasionally slip through our searches because their talent does not manifest until they are older -- "  
  
"Has he been placed?"  
  
Voldemort frowned at the interruption. "Not as yet. We had no indication of his presence before the other night so arrangements have yet to be made. The Fawcetts cannot take him, however -- "  
  
"My lord," she cried, rising from her seat only to fall to her knees before him. "My lord, forgive me for interrupting ... but please, if has not been placed, please send him to me. I know him, my lord, and surely he would adjust better if he was in the care of a friend."  
  
Crimson eyes studied the woman before him. Unlike her earlier demeanor when she spoke the appropriate words with a regretful honesty, this time she was truly beseeching, all but prostrating herself at his feet. What was this boy to her? Or was it simply -- "This boy is not Marius, my dear."  
  
"I know that," she acknowledged. "But he is now a motherless child and I ... "  
  
"You are a childless mother," he finished. "But likely not for long."  
  
Hermione nodded. "That is true, my lord."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Daniel will still require a home," she whispered. "A family. And I want to be his family."  
  
The Dark Lord was silent while he considered the woman before him. It might be for the best, he decided. Oh yes, she had been punished and it was unlikely that she would leave again but ... Once she again bore Severus' children that small possibility would disappear, as the bond between them would grow with each child that lived, but until then she needed something to occupy her mind. What better than a young boy, a newly discovered wizard with whom she had a preexisting relationship? "I will speak to Severus later tonight," he told her. "As long as your husband is in agreement I foresee no complications."  
  
"Thank you, my lord," she said softly.   
_  
"Hermione?"  
  
"Hmmm? Oh, Severus," she replied as the recent memory faded, her heart pounding and her breathing coming short as the desire between them flared once more. "I'm sorry, my love, I seem to have -- "  
  
"It's no matter," he whispered into her ear, coming ever closer until his chest was molded to her back and his arms had reached round her waist to clasp her hands in his. Shock and indecision held her still and unable to pull away, but her choice was made when he lowered his mouth to her head and pressed kisses into her upswept hair that was covered only by a short veil. She shivered when his lips brushed the shell of her ear and slid down the smooth column of her neck, her breath catching in her throat as his feelings washed over her once more. "As long as all parties are satisfied ... "  
  
"Yes," she murmured, turning in his arms and lifting her lips to his and smiling as he groaned. "I do love you, Severus ... "  
  
He pulled away and gazed down into her russet-colored eyes and found in them no guile, no lies, only the affection and desire that had so delighted him the night when he had first kissed her over thirteen years ago. After a moment he returned to her tender embrace and bent his head to claim her lips, inwardly rejoicing that his Hermione had finally returned. Her mouth parted eagerly and he could feel her hunger as he plumbed her depths, knew that she wanted the same thing as he ...   
  
And knew also that they had dinner guests.   
  
He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers, panting slightly as he willed away the hardness that seemed to never abate when in her presence. "Later, love," he whispered.   
  
"Later," she agreed, pulling away to smooth her hair and offer him the first genuine smile in ten years as he took her arm. "Shall we?"  
  
  
END CH 2  
  
  
  
Next Up: McGonagall, Malfoy, Ginny and more Voldemort ... and a night of passion that brings down all Hermione's defenses and answers all the questions.  



	4. ACT IV: Belle Noir

_Before we begin, let me say thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I appreciate all the feedback and I regret that I don't have time to write back to each of you individually, but I'm sure you would rather me spend the time writing fic, right? *g* However, I do need to say a few words to a couple of people in particular: _

_**Flourish:** It is a darker look at their relationship, but a different type of dark and I hope I'm able to carry it off the way it's outlined. I keep wanting to lighten the atmosphere and that simply will not work. _

_**Merry:** The concept of one who dominates and one who submits terrifies me as well -- and I wrote it! Hopefully this act will start to explain a bit more about her behaviour and what happened to push her over the edge, so to speak. It'll also explain why nobody intervened on her behalf. However, the worst is yet to come; expect the squick factor to rise in Act V despite the events detailed herein. And yes, some of the repetitiveness was intentional (the rest was just an oversight that I'll correct as soon as I have time). _

_And now, without further ado ... _

Darkness Falls

Act IV:Belle Noir

RATED: R [for implications, not actual content]

NOTES: Italics indicate a flashback.

THANKS: To Claire, for being a fabulous beta reader.

+++

_But, knowing now that they would have her speak,_

She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,

Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,

As though she had had there a shameful blow,

And feeling it shameful to feel aught but shame

All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,

She must a little touch it; like one lame

She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head

Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame

The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said --

from "The Defense of Guenevere" by William Morris

+++

The silence was deafening. Agonised faces sat as if petrified in the Headmistress' round office, each too shocked and terrified to utter a sound. Only the dark-haired man and, ironically, a young woman who by all rights should have remained their student seemed capable of thinking and articulation. For his part, the man had been the one to deliver the news and the shock had mostly worn off ... mostly. As for the other, she had become so accustomed to accepting shocks and shocking circumstances that she simply allowed her detached logic to treat this the same as she had treated casualty lists, death notifications and class organisations.

"Do we know how it will work?"

Minerva McGonagall roused herself from her stupor as Hermione voiced a question that expressed both her acceptance of the situation and her determination to fight it. But more importantly ... "How ... how did he get in?!"

At this the others seemed to snap out of their shocked silence and a flood of murmuring filled the room as everyone began to speculate on how Voldemort had breached the wards and re-entered the Chamber of Secrets without arousing any suspicion. Snape shook his head in disgust, his eyes slanting towards the only other person who had grasped the true implications. "It doesn't matter **how** he got in," he snarled. "He's in possession of something that could kill an untold number of people, Minerva, something that can breach even the best wards. A containment charm like I use in the laboratory might work -- but only if we never come out."

"A biological weapon," Hermione whispered. "How very Muggle of him."

Snape snorted. "Only too true, Miss Granger ... except that apparently this Plague that he has loosed on us was developed by Slytherin himself as a means to cull the herd, as it were."

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ward off the ever-impending headache that potions no longer cured. "Very well ... Filius, take Vector, Hooch, and Sinistra to the foundation, Moody too if he's returned, and check the wards for any disturbance. If nothing else, if we can determine how he entered we may be able to prevent him from accessing the Chamber at a later date."

Those named filed out of the room leaving the three conversationalists with Poppy Pomfrey and Sera Sprout, the latter moving closer to the desk in an attempt to both attain a small measure of comfort from the others as well as to facilitate conversation. Once the door closed, Pomfrey exhaled a long breath and asked, "What do we know?"

"Very little, Poppy," Snape replied wearily. "And what I did learn before I was discovered -- "

"And tortured," the matron hissed, suddenly angry once again.

"And tortured, Poppy, but that was to be expected," he dismissed, ignoring the slight tremors that still lingered even three weeks later.

"Poppy," Sprout interrupted before her friend could retort. "You know he's right ... let it go for now. We need ... **you** need to know what we can expect."

Snape sighed. "That would be the problem. The information Slytherin provided was rather vague even for him; the notes were written in at least five languages, of which one was Parseltongue, and the form was that of a poem. He did not specify how this plague works nor the speed at which it will spread, only that once released from its containment that it will destroy the unworthy."

"Unworthy?"

A nod was the only reply to McGonagall's question. The others glanced at each other, grim looks replacing shock as each one came to the same conclusion.

"Muggleborns," Hermione whispered. "He's found a plague that only kills Muggleborns."

"Hermione?"

She turned slightly, her reverie interrupted by a voice from the past now made manifest in the present, and found her mentor and former Head of House quickly crossing the room with a delighted smile blooming on her face. "Hermione, my dear ... I had heard but until this moment ... "

Any response she might have made was cut off as she was enveloped in a tight embrace. Tears pricked her eyelids at this show of affection from the normally stand-offish and decorous Scotswoman, both at the emotions that her friend and surrogate mother produced as well as for the unconditional forgiveness and understanding that she knew the embrace conveyed. Hermione shuddered, exhaling in relief as a tension she had not acknowledged evaporated in the space of heartbeat.

How long the two stood wrapped around one another, enveloped in the mutual comfort that each provided, she was unsure, but when the two broke apart it was to find that tears glittered on the cheeks of both women and smiles of genuine fondness graced their faces. Rather than adjourn to the chairs before the roaring fire that warmed the library, Minerva joined her former student on the curved window seat that overlooked the long and wide expanse of wild moor that surrounded Wrynsmere Keep. "It's rather treacherous," Minerva said quietly, her head inclined toward the moors. "Dangerous and stark ... and yet it is strangely beautiful as well."

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak quite yet. She understood, of course, that the moor was not the only thing to which the older witch referred; her words could just as easily describe Severus Snape. Or the Wizarding world, she acknowledged. "And hard to navigate," she whispered sadly. "It's a harsh and unforgiving place."

"Harsh, yes," her mentor responded. "But not so unforgiving as all that, my dear, not once you accept it for what it is."

"I thought I had."

Minerva inhaled sharply. "So you know."

"Yes."

"Is that why ... ?"

"Partly, yes," Hermione sighed.

Minerva pursed her lips, considering, as she studied the woman before her. Ten years had added a certain maturity of form that was to be expected, bringing her to an appearance that would -- baring injury or other grievous harm -- last for the next sixty or seventy years. Gone was the bright young girl who had both delighted and flummoxed her professors. Gone was the weary healer who had been a rock on which so many had leaned, herself included, she acknowledged. Gone was the young bride and mother who had, despite everything she had seen, been so full of hope for the future. And yet at thirty-two she was still young even by Muggle standards.

Only her haunted eyes remained the same, eyes that had seen too much ... and now they were clouded with an understanding that had been missing the last time they had met. And that, she concluded, was somehow worse than anything else ever could be.

"I didn't know until it was too late," she admitted sometime later. A minute, an hour, did it matter? "I know you must know how I reacted -- "

Hermione nodded.

"But they are, however much we may dislike and abhor it, in the right. I don't like it," Minerva concluded, her hands curling sharply in on themselves. "And each time a new child is brought back I have to force myself not to react. It's always worse for the older ones, the ones who knew their parents and family ... "

The two locked eyes and understanding passed between them.

"But there's no choice," Hermione echoed woodenly.

"No, there is not," her companion agreed. "It's a horrible choice to make, but it must be made and we all agreed that the Muggleborns had to be found and removed from the Muggle world as soon as possible. Even ... even Albus would have understood, Hermione. He wouldn't have liked it anymore than we do, but it's from him that I learned how to make hard choices."

The two sat in a silence broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant cry of the wind on the moor until Minerva bestirred herself and turned stern eyes on Hermione. "You're home, Hermione. Whatever precipitated your flight, however legitimate your reasons, you **are** home ... you do understand that, do you not?"

"I know," she sighed. "I've already had that beaten into me."

Minerva stiffened slightly and Hermione chuckled bitterly. "Oh come now, Minerva, surely you knew about that ... I was quite thorough in my study of the Law and you were with me for most of it."

"Be that as it may -- "

"And you've had occasion to see another Gryffindor submit to it, haven't you?" Hermione pointed out, realising for the first time that it was not a question. Until now she had been of two minds about what Severus had told her, but after her meeting with Voldemort ...

The older witch sighed deeply. "Yes, yes I have. You know, then?"

"Only the barest bones," Hermione frowned. "Severus seemed to think there were more important things to discuss."

Minerva made a noise in her throat that could have been agreement or a smothered snort; Hermione, however, had long since termed it a 'Scottish noise' and left it at that. "I'm sure."

"Still," Hermione mused, "I can't see how it came about. Arthur and Lucius still positively **loathe** one another ... or they did ... "

"They still do," the other witch replied archly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow in inquiry, an expression so like her husband's crossing her face that Minerva had to repress the urge to shudder. However much she despised Slytherin's Law, at least young Ginny was free from the curse of Belonging. "About four and a half years after you left," she continued, her voice softening a notch, "Ginny Weasley was accosted by Harry and -- "

Mahogany eyes closed tightly, their owner expelling a hissing breath. "He didn't, tell me he didn't ... "

"No, he did not, Merlin be thanked," Minerva replied. "She was rescued by Lucius Malfoy before anything ... untoward occurred. Afterwards, Malfoy began to take an active interest in young Miss Weasley. Somewhat unexpected, I grant you, but with Narcissa and Draco long dead he was in need of a wife and heirs. He was older, yes, and there's an even larger divide than between you and Severus, not that it matters, but she's also a pureblood. And recent circumstances and discoveries notwithstanding, old prejudices are hard to break."

Hermione nodded, able to envisage the setting all too easily. A distraught young woman, abducted by a man she once counted as a friend -- quite possibly more than a friend -- is snatched from almost certain death by a powerful wizard with whom her family has a long-standing feud. That said wizard is still handsome despite his increasing age is all too apparent and Ginny, shaken by her experience, would have found it nearly impossible **not** to form an attachment. When she discovered that he returned her feelings, even if a modicum was all he returned, how perfectly permissible it must have seemed to accept his suit. That he was wealthy and powerful, able to give her things her father could not, would have been the icing on the proverbial cake. And in the ensuing haste of dressmaking and preparations, in the heady rush that overtakes a young bride, how easy to forget that this same wizard was once responsible for not only countless murders and rapes but for planting the diary that nearly led to her own demise ...

"Is she happy?"

Minerva McGonagall, one of the acknowledged powers running the Wizarding world, shrugged. "I do not know. For all intents and purposes she is perfectly content to remain with Lucius and raise their children, of which there are two. She continues her work with the Muggleborn children -- we could hardly do without her -- and she sees her family often but it seems as if no one knows her anymore."

"If we ever truly knew her," Hermione whispered, still reluctant to disturb the memory. Was this Ginny changed, she wondered, or had her life up until her marriage been a facade? Had marriage to Lucius turned her or had she simply stopped pretending?

Or was the Law of Slytherin taking its toll on vivacious Ginny Weasley?

"The Law of Slytherin, Severus?"

Severus smiled down at her, his sharp eyes taking in the fall of curls that were loose about her shoulders and the smudge of ink on the side of her nose. How lovely she looked ... how he regretted that the strict rules and sumptuary laws to which she would soon be required to adhere would subsume this freshness and naivete. Now that all the impediments had been removed he was free to court her as befitted a wizard of his station, although no one would dare to say that such a courtship was of any importance. Unnecessary at best and selfish at worst; she Belonged to him, thus negating the need for many of the formalities that governed the older lines. And added to that, the Wizarding world needed to repopulate itself as quickly as possible. However, he was determined to treat her as courteously as he would have had there been no Belonging and no terrible need to restore their world to its previous grandeur. "I doubt you have heard of it, Hermione," he told her gently. "It is generally only adhered to by the older families of House Slytherin, although there are pieces of it that are being incorporated into the Device."

Hermione frowned at him for a moment as she tapped her finger against the open scroll of parchment on the table. "I know ... after all the fuss Malfoy was making a few days ago I decided to do what I do best. And this Law is ... is this ... Severus, I don't want to sound, well, I don't mean to whinge, but is all of this truly necessary?"

"Yes," he replied as he joined her at the table, taking the seat across from her. "Especially now, when so much of our world is in chaos. Do you not see, Hermione, that an example must be set and rules invoked for our protection? The Law of Slytherin is a simple thing, really, and I will answer any question you have as regards it."

"Then answer me this, Severus," she murmured intently, lowering her voice so as not to be heard by any who might be passing. "According to the Law, a husband has the right to exact justice if his wife abandons him or is unfaithful ... it completely ignores the fact that witches have an inherently unique power and position whether single or as part of a mated pair ... this law upsets the balance of power between witch and wizard."

A small smile curved his lips and his black eyes found hers and held them until she blushed and looked away, the smile turning to a smirk before settling into his usual expression. "The Law was written in a less civilised time when a family's succession was dependent on a witch's fidelity, a fidelity that could be breached very easily as you have no doubt discovered. The ruling families, led by Slytherin, crafted a code to ensure that a witch would be faithful until the heir was produced; afterwards the balance of power was restored." Except in cases of Belonging, which the Law was created to mimic, his mind supplied as he watched her digest his words. And that by agreeing to adhere to the Law a witch essentially ceded her rights to that power within her marriage until and unless her husband and lord agreed to a redistribution of power.

"I've read the post-Camelot histories so I can accept that explanation," she murmured thoughtfully, "and I can see why Slytherin and the others would think that way even if I don't necessarily agree. But if that part is considered obsolete even by the Old Guard, why hasn't it been removed?"

"Because it is part of the tradition," he answered. "And all prejudice aside, most Slytherins agree that preserving our traditions is crucial to our survival."

"Which I suppose explains the sumptuary laws as well?"

The wry tone of her voice made him laugh. "Just so."

She sighed. "Will I be forced to wear that black cliché?"

"Only on formal occasions," he assured her. "And if I'm not mistaken there are alternatives that would suit you far better, such as the hennin."

A smile flitted across her face. "Like the one Sir Cadogan's lady wears in her portrait? That would be acceptable, I suppose, but will I be expected to wear one all the time?"

"Not at all," he responded, surprised that she hadn't researched sumptuary laws as well. "Whenever we are alone -- which will be often given our admittedly reclusive natures -- there is no need for any headdress, though I do seem to recall from my grandmother that witches often kept a scrap of lace on hand to transfigure should they have unexpected visitors. Otherwise it needn't be elaborate; many styles have been deemed acceptable over the years and until my generation it was common for a witch to choose a style or two as a personal signature, if you will. Do you recall a certain vulture-hat?"

Hermione snorted. "Neville's grandmother's hat? Oh, yes."

"A perfect example."

"But I didn't believe that the Longbottoms were a Slytherin family."

"They are not," he said. "But Lavinia Gilforte most certainly is."

She started for a moment at hearing the imposing Madam Longbottom's name pass his lips. No wonder he always pushed Neville, she realised abruptly; with his very Slytherin grandmother waiting in the wings, Severus was probably trying to goad the boy she had partnered into finding his inner backbone. Or his inner snake. "Oh. Well, what about the rest? The clothes themselves, I mean. Will I go to Malkin or -- "

"A private mantua maker," he interrupted. "She'll come here next week to fit you for the first sets of clothes and you'll receive a detailed list of those things you must have in your wardrobe, such as appropriate headdresses and cloth of gold, things you may have and those you should avoid at all costs. I understand you and Minerva are arranging your attire for the handfasting?"

She nodded. "We read through the requirements and came to a reasonable compromise. It's ... "

Severus frowned at the look of sadness mingled with joy that crossed her face. "Hermione?"

"Oh," she shook off her thoughts. "The dress. It's just ... I'll tell you about it after the ceremony. Now, about the Law -- "

But before she could say more he had reached out and pulled her across the table, scattering scrolls and loose parchment as his lips slanted over hers and cut off any speech. "Forget the Law," he whispered huskily. "It's not important just now."

Hermione shook her head to clear it and gained a sympathetic look from Minerva. This had to be hard on her, she thought, loosing both of her favourites to old Slytherin families and all the baggage that entailed -- even if it was in the best interests of the Wizarding world. Still, she thought as she followed her mentor's gaze to the hem of her dress, she hadn't completely lost herself ... the flash of the scarlet silk lining when she lifted the skirts of her golden gown was proof of that. Lush velvet robes in terre verte notwithstanding.

The two shared a small conspiratorial grin.

"Am I interrupting?"

Both looked up to find Ginny, arrayed in a rich gown of deep green with a heraldic black and silver sideless surcote in place of robes, standing just inside the doorway. Light from the torches in the passageway to her back seeped in through the open door and cast shadows in the darkened half of the room and made the silver veil on her matching truncated hennin appear white. She took a few steps forward and then seemed to hesitate for a moment before flinging herself at the two women, her arms encircling them in a rush of emotion that poured outward as if from a broken dam.

"Oh, Hermione," she cried happily, her mouth opening as if to speak again only to close as if bereft of words.

"We're all happy she's home, Regina, no need to gush," the elder of three murmured.

The redhead nodded, wiping her eyes with a conjured handkerchief. "Just so, Minerva. Still, it is good to have you home, Hermione," she continued, squeezing her former Housemate's hand. "And you've been home only two days and yet managed to do what none thought would ever happen!"

Minerva turned to Hermione with a questioning expression, to which Hermione frowned and shook her head. "I don't know," she said truthfully. "Ginny, what are you talking about?"

"It's **Regina**, Hermione," she returned, stressing her name. "And I'm talking about the adoption! The boy, Daniel, the one you've managed to convince Severus to adopt. No one ever expected him to adopt one of the Muggleborn children, especially not an older one and especially not after ... "

As she trailed off Hermione blinked and bit her lip, an old habit that had re-emerged during the decade she had spent alone. Not after she had left, she finished silently. In the early days of their marriage Severus had told her that he wanted to see their children born before discussing the possible adoption of one of the Muggleborn children, to which she had readily agreed, but never once had she paused to consider how her absence would affect his decision. If she was honest with herself, and she had henceforth sworn to be so, she had half expected to find that he had adopted in spite of her abandonment. It was practically required of all families, after all, but that he hadn't adopted had not shocked her. In light of that, Ginny's -- no, Regina's -- revelation was a surprise.

Seeing the shock written on the face of her erstwhile student, Minerva asked, "Have you discussed adoption with Severus since your return? Or is there ... has something happened ... ?"

It took Hermione a minute to wrap her mind around the question Minerva was subtly asking. Once she understood, however, she shook her head. "No, no, I'm fine ... perfectly healthy. I'm just surprised, that's all, I haven't had a chance to mention it to Severus yet. After my conversation with Lord Voldemort -- "

"What has he to do with this?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the sharp tone of her mentor's voice. "I had an ... audience, if you will, with him earlier this afternoon."

Understanding flashed across Ginny's features even as Minerva asked, "Why?"

"The Law," Ginny replied curtly though her eyes belied her curiosity. "It's required in ... in a situation like this. Approval of measures taken and what-have-you. Are you saying that you discussed this with Lord Voldemort before you mentioned it to your husband?"

Brown eyes narrowed at the slight accusation in her friend's voice. "Not exactly -- "

"What then?"

"I asked about Amelia Peploe," Hermione answered tightly. "That led to a vague mention of a boy recovered from the same area later that night. When I inquired as to the name ... "

"Hermione, my dear, what is it?" Minerva asked softly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm just ... identifying, I suppose. With Amelia and Daniel both."

The former Head of Gryffindor forced back tears of sympathy even as she frowned. "Do you know them?"

"Yes," she answered, eliciting a slight gasp from Ginny. "Amelia only by sight. Daniel, though ... he and his family were my neighbours for five years and in that time I came to know him quite well. When I was told about what happened, I asked Lord Voldemort if he would send Daniel here, to me. He said he would speak to Severus ... "

"Oh," Ginny whispered. "Well, I suppose that all's well ... "

"Indeed," Minerva replied briskly, straightening her back and glancing toward the clock on the nearby wall. "If it's arranged, it's arranged; better for him to be with someone he knows than with total strangers. Hermione -- "

But whatever she intended to say was interrupted by a tiny gong that resonated throughout the house. Hermione smiled wryly and stood, asking, "Hold the thought? I do believe dinner is ready."

+++

Formal suppers at Wrynsmere Keep were a lavish and elegant affair, Hermione thought idly as the final course appeared before them. Given that both Snapes were introverted scholars by nature they entertained on a large scale only infrequently; even small gatherings were held nowhere near as frequently as those hosted by their peers. However, it was well known that their largesse could be extensive when they so chose and it was this, coupled with the mystique that had long surrounded the famous (and in some cases infamous) pair, that caused an invitation to dine with them to be coveted far more than a similar invitation from the Malfoys.

Add in dinner guests such as the aforementioned Malfoys, the revered Headmistress of Hogwarts and Lord Voldemort himself and there were wizards who would kill to receive an invitation.

On this night, however, there were no other guests to exclaim over the house-elves excellent fare and the Snapes' wonderful taste. Not that there weren't those who wished to be in attendance; according to Ginny, several Ministry officials and others of their station had desired to be present but Severus had refused. He had referred to the evening as one for family, a term that would have seemed confusing to anyone who was not acquainted with the people in question. Hermione sighed inwardly. Yes, those with whom she was dining essentially were her family. Aside from the obvious inclusion of her husband there was Ginny -- Regina, she thought again, must think of her as Regina now -- who had always been more like a sister than a mere friend or classmate. Minerva had been their Head of House during school and filled the void left by their deceased mothers as well as she could, as she had never had children of her own. Lucius and Severus, despite the difference in their age, had both been Death Eaters and Voldemort, as their leader, could be seen as a twisted sort of paternal figure.

He certainly saw himself that way, she snorted to herself. And as such, he kept dropping little hints with their mother about reconciliation -- forgetting, perhaps conveniently so, that there had never been a relationship between the two to begin with.

"It's his own twisted longing," Minerva sighed in answer to the question Hermione had asked just a few moments earlier.

Now freed from breast-feeding until Marius decided he was hungry once more, the young woman turned her nearly undivided attention to her friend. "How so?"

"Tom Riddle was just entering his fifth year when I returned to Hogwarts to apprentice with Albus," she explained. "And from the beginning he watched me. Everywhere I went his eyes followed ... or so it seemed. I never acknowledged his obvious infatuation or lust but Albus must have guessed the reason for my uneasiness."

Minerva laughed bitterly, then continued, "It was for that reason that he watched Riddle more closely, you see, nothing else. Had I not been the focus of his usually concealed obsession I doubt Albus would have ever looked twice at the boy, let alone later suspected him of the crimes of which he was guilty."

Hermione's eyes widened. "So that's why -- "

"He keeps making subtle and not-so-subtle advances? Yes. With Albus ... " and here her voice faltered for a moment. "With Albus gone, Voldemort believes that he is free to court me ... but I never wanted him, nor do I want him now. No, this Gryffindor witch has no desire for a Slytherin wizard -- especially **that** one."

As she shook off another memory, Hermione noted that the conversation had shifted to recent events. In fact, had she heard --

"Yes, Potter," Severus was saying. "The tracking charm works beautifully -- provided someone is paying attention to the maps."

"Harry?" she questioned. "He's been seen?"

"In a manner of speaking," Lucius drawled softly, his eyes once more skimming her face and studying her figure. Green and gold suited her, he mused, as both colours highlighted the warmth of her pale skin as well as the chestnut curls left exposed by the bejewelled French hood. The little Mudblood had matured into the elegant woman he'd known she would, he thought as he idly ran his finger around the rim of his goblet. Pity about the Belonging; he had been ready to take her himself, blood be damned, when Severus had dropped his little bombshell and ruined all his plans. And had he not done so, the blond smirked inwardly, he was sure that she would never have even contemplated abandoning her husband.

"The Voyager Elixir," Severus said smoothly, tugging on the bond until he was certain that he had his wife's attention. He smirked at Lucius' carefully concealed displeasure; while he doubted the older Slytherin would ever be so foolish as to attempt to dally with his wife, Severus was well aware that he did look on occasion.

Hermione tightened her grip on her goblet. _The Voyager Elixir ..._ The one they'd concocted together, for -- "It works, then?"

"Just as we believed," he responded, nodding even as he noted her reaction. To be expected, he allowed; they had begun the research after discovering her pregnancy in hopes of developing a potion-delivered tracking charm that would not harm an infant. Insurance in case their son was ever abducted by certain ... parties.

"Oh."

There was a curious silence among the assembled party at that, broken only when Hermione roused herself to ask, "How did you manage to get Harry to drink it?"

"Potter didn't drink it."

The terse reply came not from Severus or even Lucius but from Ginny. Hermione darted a look at the younger witch; her eyes were slightly glassy from the amount of wine she had consumed but the alcohol had loosened her control just enough for strong emotion to slip through. And it was obvious that she was angry.

"Goyle was duped into drinking it at an underground tavern," Severus said quietly. "As he is with Potter more often than not we felt it was the best we could do."

"Because no one can get close to the Boy Who Lived," Ginny added bitterly before draining her goblet and licking the stray drops from her lips. "Unless, of course, he chooses to let them -- and he never does."

A dark look passed over Lucius' face and Hermione nearly winced. Oh, yes, if nothing else he and Ginny were well matched when it came to this. Harry Potter had been a source of contention when the hostilities ended, not because of who he was to the opposing factions but because he could not -- or would not -- reconcile himself to the fragile peace that was brokered when Voldemort and McGonagall realised that neither side would survive without the other. Greater good or no, he had not been able to accept peace so long as Voldemort and his Death Eaters lived; with no war to wage and unable to leave Britain for fear of spreading the Plague, he and several others had declared themselves independent. The new government called them rogue wizards, outlaws.

Ginny Weasley had been devastated. For years she had adored and loved the Boy Who Lived and his actions following the announcement of not only peace but reunification had stung her deeply. Perhaps worst of all had been the revelation that he and Draco Malfoy were far more than friends ... and had been for years. And when forced to choose the Malfoy heir had chosen his lover over his blood, leaving behind comfort and a burgeoning stability for a life on the run.

Lucius Malfoy had never forgiven either of them. But when the day came and he was brought the news of his only child's death he had mourned his son.

And vowed to destroy Harry Potter.

And given what Minerva had mentioned earlier, Hermione thought, it was little wonder that the two Malfoys had bonded over their mutual disillusionment. From what she had been able to infer Harry had finally gone completely mad and the raids and attacks he and his not-so-merry-followers carried out were becoming increasingly violent. Apparently, they had all been wrong to assume that Harry would return to them once he had accepted the inevitable and, in a bitterly ironic reversal of roles, he had become the Scourge of the Wizarding world whereas Voldemort became one of its heroes.

"Not that you would know," Ginny continued. "Being that you've been flitting around amongst the Muggles and neglecting your husband."

Hermione stiffened but said nothing. This was the reaction she had been expecting all along, not the joyful embrace from earlier. Apparently Ginny was as emotionally confounded as she was and the wine had served as a key to the lock that held her anger and bitterness in check.

"Really, Hermione," the redhead asked. "What were you thinking, going out among Muggles? You don't belong there and it was dangerous ... dangerous and stupid."

Once upon a time that little barb, that insult to her intelligence, would have had her out of her seat and retorting, Hermione thought bitterly. If nothing else, Slytherin's Law had taught her how to hold her tongue -- that or her sarcastic mental retorts were the product of the bond she shared with her husband. "Dangerous? Perhaps so," she allowed. "But I was thinking, **Regina** -- as much as I was able, given the circumstances."

Ginny opened her mouth and the closed it again, a speculative look entering her eyes as she recalled the months leading up to Hermione's disappearance. "You were upset, I admit ... disturbed, even, and there were days when your magic was nearly out of control. Then you fell and you withdrew ... " she trailed off, an expression of confused understanding crossing her face.

"Do you know why I fell, Ginny? Did they tell you the truth?"

"Hermione," Severus started, his voice urging restraint and caution.

Lucius looked confused and Minerva closed her eyes at the thought of what was coming. His eerie crimson eyes glowing with curiosity and full of anger at being denied information, Voldemort raised his hand and gestured for her to continue.

Hermione stood and paced back and forth before the hearth, the light from its flickering fire making the gold of her gown and jewels gleam with an unearthly light even as the surrounding shadows cast the green of her robes as black. She looked so horribly beautiful, Minerva thought sadly, like some tragic heroine about to face her fate ... or Cassandra about to prophesy.

"You work with the Muggleborn children, Ginny," Hermione stated softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever wonder about their families?"

The younger witch nodded. "Of course. But they don't remember their losses, Hermione -- they're Obliviated."

The simple innocence with which this statement was uttered brought sadness to the eyes of Minerva, resignation to Severus, alarm to Lucius and interest to Voldemort. Hermione just shook her head. "No, they don't."

Ginny looked confused and apprehensive. "Then -- "

"How could they?" Hermione continued. "How could they Obliviate everyone who knew the children, Ginny? Forget for a moment about neighbours and extended family, but what about doctors, nurses and the other people in the hospitals -- which is where many Muggle babies are born, by the way -- and the paper or electronic trail left behind. How would they destroy that, make people forget? And each time? Half the country would be running around with gapping holes in their memories and sooner or later someone would notice. So they just kill them."

The ease with which Hermione uttered the last sentence made it that much harder for Ginny to catch what she was being told. She looked to her husband or Minerva to refute the statement and when neither would, she turned desperate eyes to Hermione. "Why ... how ... ?"

Hermione met those eyes and held them as she spoke again. "It makes sense. How else do you remove roughly one out of every twenty children born in Muggle Britain and explain the disappearances without raising alarms? Oh, I know it has to be done, Severus," she said with a glance to her husband. "I've accepted that."

"Just like that?" Ginny asked, her voice climbing an octave even as she rose from her seat. "How can you stand there and be so blasé?"

"Because I've had ten years to come to terms with it."

Watching the realisation dawn on her oldest girlfriend's face was hard, Hermione mused. Innocence, the last of Ginny's innocence, had been stripped from her this night and Hermione could feel no guilt for her handling of the situation. Perhaps it was her anger being vented on the wrong target. More likely though, she acknowledged, it was so that Ginny would hear it from the lips of a friend and not through a half-closed door.

"T-th-that's why," Ginny whispered. "You fell ... "

"Down the stairs," Hermione confirmed quietly. "Marius hadn't been dead three months and I was upset. As you mentioned, my magic was out of control again because of the pregnancy and I was looking for Severus. And I found him ... Circe, Morgana and Lilith, I found him ... with Lucius and the others planning and recounting and jesting about what they were doing to the families of the Muggleborns. I was so upset, confused ... I felt betrayed ...

"So I ran," she said abruptly. "And because I was so upset I didn't see that thrice damned rug at the top of the stair."

"You tripped."

"I tripped," she nodded. "Pitched head first down forty-five stairs and miscarried, on top of all my other injuries."

Ginny's expression was frozen in horror. Her own mind was in turmoil from Hermione's first little revelation, but this ... this was worse. She knew the pain of miscarriage and the pain of betrayal by the one you married -- she knew all about Lucius' infidelities, after all -- but at least she had been spared the pain of having both at once.

And all that just after the sudden death of her son.

The silence in the room was broken by Lucius and Severus trying to mitigate what Hermione had revealed but their explanations were muted, seeming as distant and unclear as static to the two women who stood with their eyes locked. Finally something permeated the safe cocoon in which they had unknowingly wrapped themselves because Hermione turned to her husband and gave an inelegant snort. "Do you really believe, husband, that I accepted your explanation?"

Severus rose from his place and stared at Hermione, his black eyes glittering as his temper began to mount.

She met his gaze and smirked. "Did you really think, after what happened ten years ago, that I would believe that you kill them quickly and painlessly? Oh, I'm sure there are times you must, but how do you explain the attacks that look just like the ones perpetrated before? The Death Eaters never disbanded; after the war they discovered that their targets were suddenly sanctioned for death. And really, who else could kill with such ease?"

He had the decency to wince slightly at her remark, dripping as it was with sarcasm, but he did not refute her claims.

"No, Severus, it's not that you and the others kill the families," she whispered, her voice tight and full of repressed anger. "It's that you **enjoy** it! You and the others, especially Lucius, enjoy killing them ... you can't visit your perversions and sadism on witches and wizards anymore because we are too few after the Plague -- which was not at all what you expected it to be -- so you turn your attentions to the families of the Muggleborns. And then you have the nerve to return home and lie about it to everyone ... even those like Minerva, who know what's being done."

Anyone who spared the former Head of Gryffindor a glance at that moment would have been hard pressed not to cower at her thunderous expression. However, all attention was riveted on the couple before the fire.

"Did you ever stop to think, Hermione, that I might be trying to spare you?" Severus asked softly, his anger laced with silk.

"The thought had crossed my mind," she replied. "But why spare me the knowledge of their deaths? I was there the night the truce was called and I sat at Minerva's side as we laid down the terms of peace, of how to arrange things once we realised what had happened. No, all you wanted to protect me from was the knowledge that other children were losing their families the same way I lost mine. You thought I would identify with the children and that that would drive a wedge between us.

"And you were right. But the Belonging was there to keep me tethered until I had children, when I would stay out of love for them. Again, you were correct. But you miscalculated, Severus, because nowhere in your equations did you figure in the deaths of our children and what that would do to me."

Lucius looked grim as he rose and wrapped a hand around Ginny's arm, squeezing so hard that she yelped. "Come, my dear. We should adjourn until Severus and Hermione have settled their ... differences."

"Don't leave on my account," Hermione called as the Malfoys disappeared into the study for what, to judge by the re-emerging Weasley temper on Ginny's face, was a marital spat of their own.

Once they were gone, however, Hermione turned to those remaining and raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't born yesterday, Severus," she told him. "I allowed you to manipulate me and I allowed myself to live in denial, but once I knew the truth ... If you were lying about that, what else were you lying about? We may have a bond, but you are far better at shielding yourself than I am."

"As befits the dominant partner," Voldemort murmured as he carefully reassessed the woman before him. Clearly there was more to her than he or anyone else had realised.

Hermione snorted at that, but the look on her face was one of terrible sadness. "The dominant partner," she echoed. "Which makes me the submissive partner ... Severus' wife ... Marius' mother ... But who am I really, Voldemort? How much of what I feel, what I felt, is real and how much is Severus manipulating me?"

Minerva took a deep breath. "Hermione -- "

"No, Minerva," she interrupted. "Just ... no. I didn't know what to believe or who to trust ... Ginny was innocent, yes, but at the time I didn't want to rob her of that innocence. I buried one of my best friends and lost another to madness ... I had no one to turn to when I really needed advice."

"And what about Severus?" Voldemort asked, glancing at the wizard in question. "He loves you, my dear."

"Does he?" she asked. "Or is what he feels simply a possessive obsession that's been smouldering since the day I was born?"

Black eyes watched her as she stopped pacing to stare at him in question. "You said that you loved me," he whispered, his hand reaching out to capture a stray curl.

"But do I really?" she murmured, her eyes clouding over as she remembered the tumultuous months when their relationship truly began. How often he had said those words ... and she had so needed to hear them ... "I simply don't know. Am I responsible for what's happening? Yes, I am, because I was there and I agreed. And no, because the truth was skewed and I was kept away, kept too busy to question what was happening."

She shook her head to clear it. "I don't know who am I. Aside from being a wife and mother, who am I? I couldn't answer that question then and I can't answer it now. But I'm no fool," she said as she opened the door hidden behind the arras next to the hearth and moved into the passage before the others could react.

"Checkmate."

END ACT IV

Yes, a cliffhanger! Expect Act V in about two weeks, give or take a few days. If you'd like to examples of the headdresses in this story (as well Hermione's dress in this act) email me at mllenymue@aol.com and I'll send you the link.


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